


Just Lunch. Just Barbra.

by elle_nic



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, a gift???, and it was like enough words for me to actually post so, andy and miranda are engaged, fiction&femslashevent, it was a tumblr ask
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 21:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20477564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_nic/pseuds/elle_nic
Summary: Miranda and Barbra go way back, and today, at their lunch, Miranda has some news. She hopes it is well received.





	Just Lunch. Just Barbra.

**Author's Note:**

> I got a tumblr ask a while ago to explore what Miranda telling Barbra Streisand about her relationship with Andy would look like. I got the ask like two weeks ago, but better late than never right? it's also not beta read at all and i didn't proof read so all mistakes belong to me, you can't have them. theyre mine.

It was always just lunch, but this time, Miranda had news. Big news. Her biggest yet since she found out she was having twins. And she was more nervous this time around, so naturally, she fired three people in a single morning and had to call Andréa to talk her down form homicide. But it was just lunch. It was just Barbra.

“Emily, coat, bag,” Miranda barked as she tidied her desk. The second assistant, Gemima or something, scurried about to grab her things. She was efficient but annoying, and not in the way Andréa had been when she worked there the year before. But never mind that. “I do not want to be disturbed while I’m gone, not even if the building is on fire. Frankly, the current issue might be better off being burnt to ashes.” Emily (Gemima) said nothing. She was as she said: efficient.

The car ride was silent for a number of reasons. The main being Miranda was still so damn _nervous_ about a simple lunch with one of her oldest friends. The other being Roy was on leave and her driver was an older, silent and thoughtful type of man that tipped his hat but didn’t speak. Miranda found him the most tolerable replacement possible, and it was no doubt Andréa’s doing.

Andréa, who was working from their home (!) that day, waiting for her to call after her luncheon. With Barbra. Miranda pursed her lips tighter and fiddled with her necklace all the way to the bistro her friend swore by. She didn’t wait for her driver, Rafael she knew to be his name, to open her door, only telling him to wait for her to call and then shutting her door with the force of a hurricane. _It’s just drizzling,_ her own voice taunted. She fought a smile.

She walked right up to the main counter in the small, homey bistro and stated her name and who her companion would be, noting the widened eyes of the young woman before her. Being led to her table she was relieved to see it empty. Barbra was always slightly late to these sorts of things and usually this irked Miranda to no end. Barbra knew her well, had known her for more than anyone else that was not related to her, and yet, Barbra still insisted on being late to meeting with Miranda. “Keeps you patient, honey,” she’d always say. Ridiculous.

“You’re here,” Exclaimed a delighted voice from beside her, bustling over to hug her immediately. Barbra still hadn’t changed her shampoo, Miranda noticed in her cloud of golden-brown hair.

“And you’re late,” Miranda chastised lightly, hugging the woman back only briefly. “Now, stop fawning all over me and sit down, for heaven’s sake.”

“Oh, you’re nervous about something,” Barbra said airily, with a chesty chuckle. “Tell aunty Barb what’s wrong, precious,” she cooed with a teasing smile.

“Must you be so immature?”

“I must,” she declared, her dark eyes smiling, snatching away Miranda’s menu when she went to pick it up.

“Barbra, what are you doing,” Miranda huffed. She should have known that the older woman would torment her for every moment they spent together. Such was their relationship, to Miranda’s dismay (private delight).

“I know you, Miriam,” Barbra said, waving the menu in her face, “And I know that if you get your hands on this menu, then on a meal, you’ll be able to get through this lunch without telling me why you’ve summoned me here when I’m having dinner with you tomorrow night.” Miranda was silent. “So,” Barbra added, “spill.”

Miranda squirmed for a moment, uncomfortable with her own insecurity. Barbra had never indicated a disdain for anyone for something like falling in love with the same gender. Not even the age gap could sway her opinion, Miranda knew. But it was lunch and it was with Barbra and she loved Barbra, even if she didn’t say it so often (Andréa had already begun to convince her that there was mutual delight to be shared in a profession of love).

“I’m nervous,” Miranda admitted quietly, though her face was stony and impassive as ever. If anyone looked over at them, they would not think the Ice Queen frightened to tell her closest friend her news.

“Tell me anyway,” Barbra insisted, that nauseating, endless kindness in her eyes that Andréa had, too.

“I’m getting married,” she said simply. Barbra showed no reaction further than a kind smile and a raised brow. It was the fourth time Barbra had gotten news like this, but it was the first time Miranda was nervous to say it. For good reason.

“And?”

“And I’d like you to meet her.”

“Oh!”

A strange silence settled around them, during which a server came and asked what they’d like to order. Miranda ordered for them both, having perused the menu before she arrived to see what she’d want. She ordered for Barbra too, who still seemed shocked into silence. A silence that lasted even after the server had gone.

“Barbra,” Miranda pleaded, “Say something.”

“I thought I’d be dead in the ground before you figured it out,” Barbra decided on saying, her smile widening. It was the most positive reaction she’d gotten from the New Yorker in all the times she had announced her impending nuptials.

“What, that I’m…” Looking around the semi-public place, Miranda lowered her voice, “That I’m _that way inclined_?”

“No, don’t be absurd, honey. I meant how to get married.” Miranda frowned, but then stopped, weary of developing more wrinkles.

“That doesn’t make _any_ sense, Barbra.”

“Sure it does,” the woman replied easily, leaning back when the same server came to deliver their meals. She began to eat immediately. “You weren’t nervous the last times you told me you were getting married,” she said after swallowing a bite of her pasta. “And I’m your closest friend. You _should_ be nervous to tell me that sort of thing. And now you are, so I think you’ve figured it out.”

Miranda sat unmoving, watching as Barbra ate without a care in the world.

“About time, too,” the older woman said after another bite. “You’re almost all grown up,” she added with an affectionate smile. Miranda grabbed her knife and fork and smiled down into her steak. She had been right, of course. It was just Barbra.

.oOo.

“So, how did it go?”

“It went exactly as I’d planned, Andréa. There was no need for you to worry,” Miranda replied, managing to hold in her sigh of contentment at hearing Andréa’s voice.

“You were worried!”

“I was not!” She frowned down at her desk, trying to focus on the articles Emily (still Gemima) had left for her while she was at lunch.

“You made two cups of coffee this morning and only drank one. You only drank one because you were busy practicing different ways to say you were married, and looking at the menu of the restaurant you went to. You were worried.” Miranda grumbled.

“I miss when you were afraid of me,” she mumbled.

“No you don’t,” Andréa said, laughing brightly enough to bring Miranda joy from across Manhattan.

“No,” Miranda smiled. “I don’t.”


End file.
